


The Future's Full of Clones

by jilliancares



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Accidental Confession, Bubble Bath, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pining, Pining!Keith, Sharing a Bed, Time Travel, but for a second it's like Woah, it doesn't go anywhere, just warning you, oh yeah also there's clones, there's a brief non-con situation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-21
Updated: 2018-03-21
Packaged: 2019-04-06 05:24:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14049846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jilliancares/pseuds/jilliancares
Summary: Keith accidentally winds up in his future self’s body, who he then has to pretend to actually be because apparently the future is full of clones who will say or do anything to trick Team Voltron. In the future, anyone acting out of the ordinary is a suspect, and Keith can't afford to get his future-self killed by being incompetent. This is only made harder by the fact that he has to pretend to know what it’s like to be a boyfriend, because in the future, he and Lance are dating.“I’m sorry,” Lance said gently. Keith could feel his words as much as he heard them, Lance’s warm breaths escaping against his lips. “I know you’re better, and I know you don’t like me worrying over you. I’m sorry.”“It’s okay,” Keith rushed to assure him.Play along, play along, play along. “I know you were just scared,” he guessed. “But you don’t have to be anymore.”Lance sighed a long, drawn out sigh. “I know,” he said. And then, “I love you.”Keith’s brain short-circuited.Oh,he thought. And then Lance’s lips were on his, warm and soft.





	The Future's Full of Clones

**Author's Note:**

> before you read, there's a very brief scene where keith almost gets into a non-con situation later in the fic. i'm pretty sure you'll see it coming, so just tread carefully if you need to!

Keith wasn’t the most patient of people.

In fact, some ( _cough_ , Shiro) might even go as far as to say he was _im_ patient. The kind of impatient that left him crossing his arms, grinding his teeth, and tapping his foot against the floor. The kind that had him thrusting Red into the midsts of the battle even when he’d been told explicitly to wait.

He couldn’t help it, okay? There was something about seeing a huge battle going on that rattled his nerves, believe it or not. He knew his team was more than capable of handling things on their own — there’d even been occasions when they’d all been separated, times when just one or two of them had had to fight off entire Galra fleets — so it wasn’t exactly the danger factor of it all that had him charging in there, though that was certainly part of it. Mainly, it was knowing a battle was going on without him, knowing that someone could get hurt when he could’ve done something to stop it. It was that _sitting_  and _waiting_  made him feel absolutely useless and stir-crazy.

Sorry Shiro, but keeping a bird eye’s view on the battle wasn’t really doing it for Keith. Shiro’s reasoning for it hadn’t even been that good. Something about the planet the battle was happening on giving him weird vibes, something about keeping an eye on things and making sure nothing strange happened.

Well, nothing strange _had_  happened. And Keith was tired of waiting.

Plus, it was a pretty good thing he got down there when he did. It’d been driving him crazy, ignoring his team over the comms while circling in the sky and looking out for anything less normal than a bunch of teenagers flying in robot lions and fighting off an evil alien species. It was unsettling, hearing them cry out in pain as they got hit by lasers or calling out for someone to cover them and doing nothing about it. Maybe that was part of the reason he was down here now, disobeying orders.

“Shit! This guy won’t get off my tail!” Pidge growled, trying and failing to ditch a ship particularly set on following her.

Keith, finally ready to jump into action, thrusted Red forward in a sudden burst of speed, catching the fighter between Red’s jaws and feeling the metal crunch somewhere beneath him.

“Aw, Keith!” Lance’s voice whined in his ear. “I totally had that guy!”

“Keith?” Shiro said, sounding confused. “He’s not in the fray, is he?”

“Uh, unless some other red lion just showed up to steal my thunder, then yeah.”

“Sorry, Shiro,” Keith grunted, already occupied otherwise. He was taking out ships a bit more aggressively than normal, his tension from being forced to sit and watch bleeding into Red, bleeding into their fighting style. “Things were looking pretty rough down here, I couldn’t just stay put anymore.”

Shiro made a noise that was half annoyance and half anger. “We need someone up there,” he reasoned. “Something about this planet is really giving me bad vibes. I think we need to be keeping an eye out —”

“OW,” Hunk suddenly cried out, and then Keith was off, darting towards the ship currently shooting the yellow lion.

Half-distracted, Keith answered, “Yeah, well we don’t have enough eyes for that to happen. The sooner we can finish this battle, the sooner —”

He was cut off by a loud rumbling through the air, and he made a noise of confusion, echoed by the rest of the paladins. Lance was the first one to notice something.

“Um, guys,” he said tentatively. “What is _that_?”

Keith spun his lion around, eyes peeled for what Lance could possibly be talking about, though it was soon very apparent that he didn’t need to be looking so hard. It was obvious.

What looked like a hundreds foot tall sandstorm was racing towards them. It swallowed up Galra ships, their purple lights winking out of existence as the wall of sand and dust and who knows what else raced past them, obscuring them in what was most likely a terrifying cloak of darkness. Piloting in that would be terrible — no one would know where they’re going, ships would collide with friend and foe alike.

“Let’s get out of here!” Pidge shouted, the first to follow her own order. She spun her lion around and began racing away from the fast approaching wall of sand, and the rest of them quickly followed her lead.

Keith was closest to the sandstorm, but Red was also the fastest, so he should’ve been fine. Should’ve been able to catch up with everyone else, surpass them if he wanted to. But he couldn’t.

“C’mon,” he urged, glaring at the backs of the other lions; blue, yellow, green, and black, slipping farther and farther out of his reach. But he couldn’t speed up, couldn’t catch them, even as he leaned against the thrusters as hard as he could, even as he chanted encouragements at Red through their mental link.

God, Shiro had been right. He should’ve stayed in the sky, should’ve been up high enough to see this coming, to warn everyone...

He could hear his teammates calling out to each other faintly, their voices sharp and urgent, but for some reason he couldn’t make out the words, possibly a problem with his communicators. Maybe the dust—

Because _yes_ , the dust. It wasn’t just behind him, it was creeping up before Red, his field of vision first turning brown, then darker and darker as more of the sand rushed past him, obscuring his field of vision. He kept pushing forward, sure he’d be out of it soon enough, sure he’d catch up with the other lions, except Red was slowing down, it felt like. Growing groggy and irritated, the sand getting between her joints, into her exhaust.

Desperate, she let out a roar, as if she could scare the sand away, but it didn’t fix the situation at all. It grew darker all around them and Keith _knew_  it wasn’t safe to keep flying, knew he could crash right into another ship or something worse, if he wasn’t lucky. And still he kept flying, a tight ball of panic making itself known in his chest. He ignored it, sure he’d be fine in just another second, another two…

Red only just had time to convey something along the lines of alarm and concern before they were sinking abruptly — plummeting, really. No matter what Keith did their descent didn’t slow, and it got to the point where he stopped trying to direct Red and started clinging onto his armrests instead, hoping to make the impact the least amount of jarring as possible. What made it worse was having no idea how high up he was, how far he was falling, when he was going to hit the ground.

And so he just fell, and fell, and fell.

And long after he thought he should’ve stopped falling, by now, surely, he crashed.

 

 

A deep, insistent throbbing in his head was what finally pulled Keith back to wakefulness. It was like a thread he could cling to, a line he could pull, and from there he could find his way back, swimming through the darkness and confusion towards the light.

 _I must have hit my head,_  he thought groggily, still struggling to open his eyes. It didn’t really make sense — he’d been strapped into his seat and wearing his helmet — but the ache he was feeling didn’t leave room for very many questions.

Finally, he managed to wrench his eyes open, blinking and squinting in confusion at the sudden abundance of light. It wasn’t the light of the sun or the cockpit of his lion, but the ceiling lights of the castle. When had he gotten back to the castle? And why was he here, wherever he was, instead of emerging zombie-like from a cryopod?

With a groan, he sat up, sure his head was going to throb all the worse with the movement, but in between one blink and the next the pain vanished entirely. This sent him for a loop, the abrupt absence of pain threatening to give him another headache. He wasn’t normally one to dwell on _not_  hurting, but this was just weird. And confusing.

Still, he didn’t mind the pain disappearing even if it was a bit freaky. He could think a whole lot more clearly now, and he couldn’t help questioning tenfold why he was waking up here instead of literally anywhere else. He was on the couch, and a glance around the room revealed he was in the lounge, accompanied by —

“Ah!” he said, startled, and Pidge grinned a familiar evil grin at him. Except —

“You think you’re so stealthy, sneaking off for naps like this,” she scoffed, crossing her arms from where she sat on the couch across from him. “You don’t need to pretend you’re not tired when you are,” she said plainly. “Nobody’s gonna blame you. We know you’re still recovering.”

Keith nodded slowly, his mind scrambling to take this all in. Except. It couldn’t. He didn’t know what was going on.

First of all, was Pidge talking about the sandstorm? How he was still recovering from crashing from that? In which case, he was pretty sure he was missing a few hours here and there, because he couldn’t remember what’d happened since he’d crashed. How’d he get here?

And then, more pressing of an issue, actually, was the fact that Pidge looked _different_. Not bad different, just… _different_  different. For one thing, her hair was shorter. Way shorter. And there was something else about her, something off. Keith felt weird staring so long, but… was she more muscular? And he couldn’t be sure, seeing as she was sitting down and all, and maybe it was just the way she was sitting, but she looked _taller_.

“Um,” Keith said, because he knew he needed to say things, knew there were questions fighting for attention in his mind, but he couldn’t really remember how to get them from his brain to his mouth. Pidge seemed to take his confusion as a sort of just-woken-grogginess, as she rolled her eyes as she stood and pulled him to his feet.

“Come on,” she said, dropping his arm and striding across the room without a backwards glance. Unquestioningly, Keith followed her. “Allura’s been trying to gather us for the last hour. And Lance won’t stop worrying about you, of course,” she said, sounding amused. And then she glanced over her shoulder, smiling knowingly at Keith. “Maybe that’s why you sneaked off, huh?”

Keith just laughed, trying desperately to go with it. He didn’t even really know why, it just felt right. When in doubt, pretend everything’s fine, pretend everything’s perfectly normal.

But seriously, what? Lance was worrying about him? Why? Since when?

The last time Keith had been seriously injured enough warrant the use of a healing pod, he’d stumbled out of it towards the group gathered, still half-frozen, still groggy and confused. He’d tripped towards Lance’s side, and for a moment Lance had caught him up against him, holding him steady and making Keith’s stomach do some painful kind of twist inside him, and then he’d scoffed, pushing him off towards Shiro.

“Looks like he’s all right,” he’d commented, immediately followed by, “Now can we _please_  go eat some dinner?”

So, yeah. Lance caring for and about Keith was not something that really happened. They’d grown a bit closer, sure, and Keith would even go so far as to call him a friend, but even then it was only tentatively.

Trying to get as much of a handle on the situation as he could, he cleared his throat and asked, “So why does Allura want to see us, anyway?”

Pidge shrugged, though she slowed down finally, dropping back to walk by Keith’s side. “She didn’t say,” she answered. “Though I bet it has to do with Zarkon’s clones.”

“Clones?” Keith questioned, and Pidge made a scoff of agreement.

“I know,” she snorted. “I’m still not sure I want to believe it, you know? Like, even if Zarkon _could_  make clones, he could make so many better things than us. Like a thousand of himself, you know? Plus, I doubt he even has any of our DNA. Hard to clone something without that, right?”

“Right,” Keith hastily agreed, feeling like he was supposed to.

“Anyway, we don’t need to get into it again,” Pidge said airily, waving a hand flippantly between them. _Again_? Keith thought to himself. _When did we get into this before?_

He had no idea what was going on, no idea what Pidge was talking about, and he finally realized that maybe he should say something about it. Maybe he should mention that he couldn’t remember what had happened since the sandstorm.

He’d opened his mouth to do just that when they turned the corner and ran — quite literally — into Hunk.

“Oops!” he yelped, reaching out and grabbing both Keith and Pidge, who’d gone flying backwards at the impact. “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” Pidge answered, theatrically dusting herself off, and Hunk shook his head with a snort. “You found Keith, then?” he asked, running an appraising eye over Keith. “Lance had me looking for him too.”

“He did?” Keith found himself asking, because seriously, what the fuck?

“He’s convinced you haven’t been taking all of your medication,” Hunk said with a roll of his eyes. And then Lance appeared from right behind Hunk, arms crossed, and glared at the three of them.

“Wow,” he said sarcastically, with an exaggerated shrug. “It’s almost like getting poisoned by a crazy alien and almost _dying_  is something to be worried about.” Hunk and Pidge shifted kind of guiltily. Lance’s eyes turned to Keith, next, running up and down him as he jutted out his jaw, as if analyzing him. Finally, he seemed to slump into himself slightly, looking relieved.

“You’re okay?” he said softly, and Keith felt his insides flip. Why was Lance looking at him like that? His eyes all soft, his mouth turned down in a concerned-looking frown.

“Yeah,” Keith found himself agreeing, unable to help it. He just wanted Lance to stop looking so worried. And then his brain caught up with him, and he remembered, _wait, no, I’m not!_  Because something was very obviously wrong with him. He had no idea what any of them were talking about and also, Lance and Hunk looked just as foreign as Pidge did. That was to say, not really so different but different enough for it to draw Keith’s attention.

Like, Hunk looked bulkier. Filled out. Honestly, he looked like he could squeeze Keith’s head off if he wanted to. And his hair was still held back by that headband of his, but it looked longer somehow, shaggier.

And then there was Lance. Keith knew it didn’t make sense, but he wanted to say he looked taller. And his hair looked different, too! The sides of it were shaved and the top of his hair was cut shorter. And Keith wasn’t sure whether it was due to the length or the use of hair product, but Lance’s hair looked kind of curly.

Plus, now that Keith was examining them all, he was pretty sure there were some marks and scars he didn’t recognize. They were all pretty aware of each other’s injuries, seeing as they were there when they happened, there when they rushed them to the pods in a panic, there when they finally came out, still decorated with red, slow-healing scars. It was hard not to note the growing list of injuries they all had, watching their skin grow more and more battered as time passed, as they transitioned from kids to soldiers.

For the first time since Keith had woken up, he let himself question just how much time had passed. How long must it have been for his friends to get new scars? New hair? New appearances?

“Come on,” Hunk finally said, jerking his head in the direction he’d come from. “Allura’s waiting for us.”

Pidge scurried up to Hunk’s side, already going on about what she suspected this meeting was about, and Keith was surprised when Lance dropped back to his side. That concerned tilt to his mouth, the wrinkle in his brow, was still there as he regarded Keith. “You’re sure you’re okay?” he said, voice low enough that Pidge and Hunk wouldn’t overhear. “I would’ve laid down with you if you’d just asked, you know.”

Keith couldn’t make sense of that, couldn’t try to figure out the puzzle of his words in his brain, so he answered, “I’m fine,” even though he clearly wasn’t. Lance was acting beyond strange and Keith was sure that something was wrong.

Something must’ve happened in that crash. Part of Keith wanted to say he was experiencing some kind of amnesia, but that just didn’t make sense to him. More than anything, it felt like he’d been teleported into the future, however far that was. Months? Years?

Keith was effectively shoved out of his thoughts when Lance, without warning, wound an arm around his waist. He tucked his head into Keith’s neck as they walked, breathing out a warm sigh against his neck.

“All right,” he said. “I’ll believe you. I’ve just been worried — I can’t help it.”

Keith was probably supposed to respond, supposed to _say something_ , but he couldn’t remember how to talk. Lance was so close to him, touching so much of him, and his brain was short-circuiting because of it.

 _I need to say something,_  Keith thought desperately. _I need to tell them what’s wrong. Maybe Pidge can figure out what’s wrong with me, how I wound up in the future. Was it something from that sandstorm? Maybe they remember this, if what’s happening to me now happened to them before._

Unfortunately, Keith didn’t get a chance to speak his mind before they were turning into the control room where Allura, Shiro, and Coran were already in the middle of a conversation.

“…getting more and more serious,” Allura was insisting.

“Maybe they’re just mistaken,” Shiro tried, looking worried. But Coran was shaking his head, clearly thinking this wasn’t the case.

“Hard to mistake someone for you lot,” he said sagely. “You’re practically famous!”

“We _are_  famous,” Lance interrupted, drawing the attention of everyone already in the room. Allura’s eyes lit up at the sight of them and she sighed in relief.

“Good,” she said. “You’re finally here.”

“Would’ve been here sooner if it weren’t for mullet-man over here,” Lance claimed, jerking his thumb towards Keith’s face, who rolled his eyes.

Keith expected this comment to pass, like it always did, but suddenly everyone was staring at him expectantly.

“What,” Pidge spoke up suddenly. “You’re not gonna claim it’s not anymore?”

With a shock of realization, Keith reached up to his hair, his fingers slipping through short strands that were supposed to be long. He swallowed, trying to hide his surprise and — yeah, he’ll admit it — fear. Because it was clear that, wherever he was, _whenever_  he was — it wasn’t where he was supposed to be.

A croaky kind of laugh escaped Keith, more surprise than anything else. His hair was gone. He’d cut his hair. Why?

“Just — still out of it,” Keith managed to mutter. “You know. From the nap.”

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Lance immediately cut in, leaning into his field of vision, that damn concerned expression on his face again. And what was _with_  that? Lance caring about him so much, Lance touching him so casually.

“I’m fine,” Keith insisted, and Allura clapped her hands together to garner their attention.

“As long as you really are okay, Keith, I’d like to get this meeting started.”

Keith nodded his assent, ignoring Lance still hovering by his side. He was standing stiffly, feeling on edge. Lance had kept his arm wrapped around Keith the entire walk to the control room, and Keith was practically jumping out of his skin, wondering if Lance would touch him again, now.

He pushed his thoughts aside aside as Hunk and Pidge broke ranks, walking towards Allura. Keith followed, Lance at his side, and soon they were all gathered around where she, Shiro, and Coran had already been standing. Keith crossed his arms, coming to a decision.

He’d let this meeting pass and play along with whatever was going on, but at the end of it he’d come clean, tell the team that something was wrong, that he was from the past. It couldn’t have been that long ago — they all still looked young and strong, though more scarred and possibly a bit more tired. Really, it was relieving to know they were all still here. Plus, who was to say that this was even really happening? Maybe Keith was still lying in his lion at the bottom of a sandstorm, eyes twitching in their sockets as he had the weirdest dream he’d ever experienced.

So it was settled. This was either the Real Future or a dream, and either way Keith wanted to go right back to where he was supposed to be, wanted to open his eyes and be back with his normal team, the ones who didn’t have subtle changes that Keith couldn’t help cataloguing in his mind. The one that had a Lance who picked on Keith and only touched him when they were fighting — a Lance who made sense.

“I’m sure you’ve all guessed what this is about,” Allura said seriously, leaning back against the podium behind her.

Keith heard Pidge muttering, “Please be clones, please be clones, please be clones,” under her breath.

“Zarkon’s clones,” Allura clarified.

“YES!” Pidge shouted, pumping a fist into the air, only to look immediately chastised, Allura staring at her in confusion. “I mean, oh no. I’m sure this could cause a real problem for us,” Pidge amended hastily.

“Indeed,” said Allura. “They could go to planets that need our help and act in your stead. They could trick people, could create a bad name for Voltron.”

Pidge frowned. “Would they really do that, though?” she questioned. “If they’re clones of _us_ , wouldn't they want the same things we want?”

“Not quite!” Coran input helpfully. “They look like you, sure, can think and act like you too, but they have an evil component to them. Zarkon’s doing.”

Pidge looked extremely put out. Keith strained to hear her muttering under her breath, something about having wanted to befriend her clone.

“That’s not the only issue, however,” Allura continued.

“Of course it’s not,” Hunk muttered bitterly. “When do we ever get to face just one issue?”

“What we really need to be wary for,” Allura said, pausing dramatically, “is each other.”

“What?” a unified chorus of voices exclaimed, even Keith’s one of them. He couldn’t help it, it just didn’t make sense.

Allura nodded solemnly. “We have to keep an eye on each other,” she said. “If a clone were to slip aboard the castle-ship they could cause an innumerable amount of damage. They will say or do anything to slip by us, so we must take note of anyone acting out of the ordinary.”

Everyone looked kind of uncomfortable at this prospect. Keith didn’t blame them. It was their instinct to trust each other — they’d been building their trust ever since they’d first formed Voltron together. Keith would trust any of them with his life, and he bet that feeling of absolute trust and respect had only grown over time. The thought of considering each other warily was foreign to them.

“This won’t be forever,” Allura assured them, noticing their shared looks of uncertainty. “I’m sure before long, we’ll be able to invent some sort of scanner to tell original from copy. No clone is 100% perfect — we just need to figure out the difference before we can create the scanner.”

“I’ll help,” Pidge offered immediately, eyebrows already furrowed in thought.

“Yeah, me too,” Hunk said. “Maybe we can make the scanner based off the rhythm of our thought processes. If the clones really do have an evil component, I doubt they’ll think in the same patterns as us.”

“Good thinking, Hunk,” Allura assured, and then she looked around at them all seriously. “That’s all I have to say on the matter, for now. Does anyone have any questions?”

Keith kept his lips sealed tight. This wasn’t going to work, he realized. He couldn’t tell them what was going on with him because they’d just think he was a clone. Allura has said it herself — the clones would say or do anything to convince them to trust them. All Keith could do was try to blend in as he figured out how to get back to his own time on his own.

“Don’t worry, Allura,” Lance finally spoke up. And in doing so, he stepped closer to Keith and wrapped an arm around his waist. Keith fought to keep his expression blank, pushing away the surprise and confusion that wanted to break through. _This is totally normal,_  he thought to himself. _Lance touching me casually? Just another day as a paladin of Voltron. Normal._  “We know each other so well, there’s no way we wouldn’t notice a clone on our ship,” he continued. A small smile broke out on Allura’s face at that.

“I suppose you’re right,” she sighed, her posture relaxing even more, and Lance grinned brightly. “That’s all, everyone. You’re dismissed.”

“I’m gonna go train,” Keith announced. Training would help. With sweat coating his skin and nothing but muscle memory to worry about, he’d be able to think clearly, able to formulate some kind of plan. Plus, getting away from everyone would definitely clear up some brain space as well. Especially Lance. He couldn’t think at all with Lance’s fingers on his skin, tapping idly against his waist, as if they were perfectly comfortable there.

“Umm,” Lance said incredulously. “Yeah, I’m sure that’s a great idea for the traces of poison still lingering in your body.”

“I’m _fine_ ,” Keith insisted, glaring at Lance, who looked a bit taken aback. Honestly, he really did feel fine. Other than the fact that he wasn’t exactly in the right place of his timeline, there wasn’t anything wrong with him. Not to mention he couldn’t even remember whatever this poisoning incident was anyway.

Lance’s lip protruded in a pout. “I know,” he finally conceded, not continuing to argue like Keith had expected him to. “I’m just — I’m still worried. It was scary, you know?”

“I know,” Keith agreed, even though he didn’t. “But I feel fine now, and I want to go train.”

Everyone was politely not looking at them as they very obviously eavesdropped.

“Okay,” Lance sighed, and then he straightened up. “But I’m coming with you. I haven’t had a good spar with anyone since you’ve been out of commission — no offense, guys.”

“Offense taken,” Pidge muttered darkly, which Lance ignored.

“Plus, I’ll be there in case you collapse,” Lance smirked.

“I won’t collapse,” Keith said, but what he really wanted to say was more of a mixture of groans and growls. He was trying to get _away_  from this idiot, dammit! What was his problem?

“Oh, I don’t know,” Lance hummed inconspicuously, before he turned to Keith and crooned in a voice Keith had only ever heard directed towards women, “I think you might fall for me.” This was accompanied by an eyebrow waggle and groans from everyone else in the room. Despite himself, Keith felt heat rise to his cheeks. Lance was flirting with _him_?

“Let’s just go train,” Keith muttered gruffly. Ignoring Lance’s flirtation advances must’ve been the norm for Future Keith as no one batted an eye at this response. Lance just hummed happily and turned to stride out of the room a step ahead of Keith.

They’d onto turned down two different hallways when Lance was slowing down and stopping. Keith automatically slowed down too.

Lance turned around and stared at him for a moment. He stepped in closer, gently reaching out linking his fingers with Keith’s. His forehead was touching Keith’s. They were closer than they’d ever been, and Keith couldn’t breathe.

“I’m sorry,” Lance said gently. Keith could feel his words as much as he heard them, Lance’s warm breaths escaping against his lips. “I know you’re better, and I know you don’t like me worrying over you. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Keith rushed to assure him. _Play along, play along, play along_. “I know you were just scared,” he guessed. “But you don’t have to be anymore.”

Lance sighed a long, drawn out sigh. “I know,” he said. And then, “I love you.”

Keith’s brain short-circuited. _Oh_ , he thought. And then Lance’s lips were on his, warm and soft, and his fingers were tugging on the strands of hair at the nape of his neck, now short. He pulled away much too soon.

“I really do miss your hair,” Lance lamented, still close, close, close. His fingers were still in Keith’s hair, tugging on it, and Keith couldn’t really concentrate on anything. Had Lance’s eyes always been this blue? Had they always been this expressive?

“Sorry,” Keith muttered, because he couldn’t think of anything else to say. He was such an idiot. How had he not realized they were dating? Lance touching him, Lance worrying over him. Lance _flirting_  with him.

Lance scoffed. “As if you could help having your hair shot off,” he said, shaking his head, and his lips quirked up. They were good lips. Soft. Pink. Wait — his hair was shot off? “We’re just lucky it looks good,” Lance laughed. He cocked his head. “And that they didn’t hit your actual head, I guess.”

Keith snorted, and Lance grinned, his other hand coming up to cup his cheek. His thumb brushed over Keith’s cheekbone and Keith started counting down in his head, sure he was going to implode any second now. His cheeks must’ve been red — they certainly felt hot enough. He’d just — he’d never been in a situation like this before. No one had ever kissed him, no one had ever held his face so softly, had looked at him like they absolutely adored him. He couldn’t help feeling surprised, couldn’t help the way his shoulders were rising slowly, filling with tension. It was just all so new, so different, so _intense_.

Was this even real? Was this actually his future? And if so, _how_?

Lance hated him. Okay, maybe that was a bit of an exaggeration after all they’d been through together, but Lance certainly didn’t like him like _this_.

“All right,” Lance finally said, apparently having gotten his fill of staring at Keith. “Let’s go train.” He grabbed Keith’s chin and tilted his head up, pressing their lips together for a single peck, before stepping away from him completely and starting off down the hall.

Keith immediately felt cold with the loss of body heat. And disoriented.

Regardless, he followed, catching up with Lance and falling in beside him. Lance didn’t seem to pick up on any of the whirlwind of emotions going through Keith’s head, which Keith was grateful for. He didn’t need Lance asking what he was feeling when he wasn’t even half-sure himself.

Although, Keith definitely couldn’t deny that he was feeling kind of scared. He was an imposter here. As good as a clone to the future team Voltron, and he didn’t want to think of what would happen to him if he were to be discovered. They might not even give him time to defend himself, to try to explain. He could see it now, his team tossing him out the airlock and dusting off their hands as they did. God, he was going to have to become a good actor, and fast.

“Prepare to have your ass kicked, Kogane,” Lance said as they walked into the training room. He immediately stripped off his jacket, pulling his bayard out of the pocket before tossing it towards the door.

“You wish,” Keith scoffed, this banter, at least, familiar to him. He raised his own bayard, having been clipped to his hip, and activated it, spinning it around a bit to show off. Lance raised his eyebrows, impressed.

“Don’t be so cocky,” Lance warned, dropping into a fighting stance a little ways from Keith. “While you’ve been on your ass ‘ _resting_ ’ —” this was accompanied by exaggerated finger air-quotes, despite it being Lance who hadn’t wanted him pushing himself in the first place “— I’ve been studying the blade.”

“Liar.”

“You’re right,” Lance immediately conceded. “I’ve been studying the art of tricking my boyfriend into taking his medicine. But other than that, it’s been just me and the blade, baby.”

Keith didn't believer him for a second, but he played along. “Then bring it on,” he taunted. The Lance he was used to rarely decided to train on his own, instead concentrating on the team practices and — very, very occasionally — joining Keith when he particularly felt like bugging him. He couldn’t really imagine Lance practicing on his own in here while Keith was resting somewhere else, but he figured it wouldn’t be too big of a deal. This was still Lance, and he was still Keith. He had the highest score on the close-range training simulator back in his time.

Needless to say, Keith thought wrong.

First of all, he had to keep his composure and not let his jaw drop to the floor when Lance activated his bayard, an Altean broadsword taking the place of his gun. As if Keith weren’t already caught off guard enough, Lance darted forward with a speed Keith wasn’t expecting, and it was all he could do to lift his sword in time to block him. Lance immediately looked cocky, grinning as he pressed forward, swinging his sword like a mad-man and ushering Keith backwards.

All right, new rule about the future: don’t assume anything, ever. And definitely don’t underestimate Lance.

Keith knew his body had changed along with everyone else’s in however much time had passed since the sandstorm. He could see it in the marks on his skin, in the unfamiliar strength he could feel in his arms and legs, built up from months or years of battles and training. But even with this advanced body, Keith had clearly not retained the mind. Try as he might, and though he didn’t want to admit it, he wasn’t as good as Lance — could barely even keep up with him.

“Lookin’ a little slow there, babe,” Lance said, grinning evilly. And God — Keith stumbled when Lance called him that, unable to help it. “You need to take a break?”

“No,” Keith grunted. He was already panting, desperately trying to keep up with Lance. It took all his concentration just to block him — he couldn’t even go on the offensive. He was sure that he wasn’t supposed to be this tired already, especially with how fit he looked, so he assumed at least part of his poor performance was thanks to the apparent poison he for some reason had had in his body.

Regardless of Keith’s answer, Lance eased up, not attacking him quite so fast, quite so hard. Keith ignored the concerned looks Lance was shooting him, his lips pursed, though he didn’t speak up.

Even with Lance going easy on him, Keith’s arms and legs turned leaden, his sword less quick to block Lance’s, his legs carrying him just one step less when he went to dodge Lance. Even with these alarming advancements, Keith didn’t say anything— not until the flat of Lance’s sword was suddenly nailing him in the stomach, the breath rushing out of his lungs as he was flung backward onto the mat. Really, he was lucky they’d had their bayards set to ‘practice’.

“Urgh…”

“Oh my God! Keith!” Lance exclaimed. He dropped by his side, fingers fluttering around his face, brushing past his chin and over his cheek. “Babe. Sweetheart — I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”

Keith groaned. “I’m fine.”

Lance, ignoring him, shoved his shirt up to his ribs, his warm fingers trailing over the exposed skin, pressing down lightly around the middle of his stomach. “Does this hurt?” he asked, unable to look at Keith’s face or stomach too long, instead twitching his gaze back and forth between the two.

“No,” Keith said, before hissing when Lance pressed down on a particularly tender spot. Lance looked up at him, alarmed, and Keith repeated himself stubbornly. “No.”

Lance continued to look worried for a moment, and then he looked kind of thunderous. “You said you were feeling fine,” he accused. “That you could train.”

Keith pushed himself up to his elbows, yanking his shirt down and hoping Lance attributed his blush to exertion. “I thought I was,” Keith answered sincerely. “I felt fine.”

Lance sighed, shaking his head in exasperation. “You push yourself too hard,” he said. And then, “I’m gonna have to tie you to the bed.” He grinned then, looking up at Keith and raising his eyebrows suggestively.

“I hate you,” Keith said, and Lance laughed, grinning.

“Nah,” he said confidently. “You love me.”

Unfortunately, Lance wouldn’t let Keith keep training despite Keith’s insistence. He even suggested not fighting the gladiator, just jogging on the treadmill-like platforms they had, but Lance was adamant about Keith resting up. So instead of training and clearing his mind and figuring out how he was going to escape this warped timeline and return home, he went to lunch. There, Hunk was cutting something that looked surprisingly like a carrot, but it couldn’t have been because nothing other than goo lasted in the castle-ship’s pseudo-fridge. Right?

“Hey guys,” Hunk greeted, waving his knife worryingly as Lance and Keith entered the room.

“Heya,” Lance answered, stepping forward and snatching a chunk of not-carrot off the board, popping it in his mouth. He hummed as he chewed.

“Lance!” Hunk reprimanded, tugging the slices of maybe-carrot away from the edge of the counter. “What have I told you about eating the ingredients?”

“To do it whenever I wanted?”

“Wrong,” Hunk muttered, but he didn’t seem actually mad. He shook his head in amusement before looking up at Keith, raising an eyebrow. “And I’ll bet you want one now, too?”

Keith hastily shook his head. He’d always hated imposing. It was probably some sort of habit or instinctual reaction left-over from moving around to so many foster-homes. He’d always hated asking for things, always tried his best to be independent and unassuming. Once, when he was ten, he’d lost his toothbrush and agonized over it for an entire week before asking for a new one.

So, “I’m good,” is what Keith answered, that automatic reaction always his first instinct. Shiro was always getting on him for it, telling him it was fine to come to the team with problems, fine to want things and accept people’s offers.

Hunk just scoffed. “No need to be modest, Keith,” he said, and he tossed a chunk of the vegetable towards Keith, who caught it with some surprise.

“Thanks,” he muttered, and popped it in his mouth while trying to pretend that eating something that wasn’t goo wasn’t monumental for him. It’d been so long since he’d had to _chew_. He couldn’t help the satisfied sound of enjoyment that slipped out of his mouth as the flavor burst across his tongue.

“Oh my God,” he said, and he had to convince himself not to cross the room and steal the rest of the not-carrot. It was sweeter, kind of between a fruit and a vegetable, and it was delicious.

“I know that look,” Hunk laughed, pointing at Keith. “Stay back you monster! I’m trying to actually _make_  the dinner for once.”

“But _Huuuunk_ ,” Lance whined, making grabby hands towards the cutting board. Hunk pointed his knife at Lance and that was a good enough hint for him. They grabbed another meal — some sort of salad-like thing, also surprisingly not goo — and left Hunk alone to continue with his baking. Or was it cooking?

Either way, he and Lance left him alone, and Keith spent lunch trying desperately to keep up with Lance, to pretend like he knew about everything that came up in conversation and to not spit his food out in shock when Lance casually mentioned something about Matt — Matt as in _Pidge’s brother_.

He had a feeling that, however long he was stuck here for, he was going to be playing catch-up. Was going to be balancing precariously on the edge, trying desperately to keep from tipping to either side.

—

It was astonishing how Keith had managed to completely ignore the predicament that would come with his sleeping arrangements. All day, he’d been so wrapped up in making sure he acted properly, making sure Lance didn’t feel how tense he was whenever he wrapped his arm around him, so caught up in the anxiety of the entire situation, that he’d managed to disregard the fact that couples usually slept together.

He was pretty quick to remember, however, when after a long night of sitting in the lounge with the rest of their team, Lance sighed and leaned his head on his shoulder, murmuring, “Ready for bed?” Earlier, he’d been leaning against Hunk with his legs in Keith’s lap (Keith had awkwardly rubbed his ankles, wondering what exactly he was supposed to do in that position) but he’d gravitated closer to Keith as time had passed.

It took everything in Keith not to tense up at those three words. _Ready for bed?_  As in, together. Going to sleep in the same room, same bed, because they were dating. Of course.

Keith only just managed to keep from croaking out his answer, instead clearing his throat and saying, “Yeah,” as casually as he could. Oh God, the future was going to kill him.

“Awesome,” Lance said. He reached down and grabbed Keith’s hand, giving it a quick squeeze before letting go and getting to his feet.

Despite the fact that Keith would be going to bed with Lance, he was kind of glad for the excuse to retire. Besides the exhaustion that had slowly begun to weigh him down throughout the day, the effort of pretending to be someone he wasn’t (or at least, someone he wasn’t _yet_ ) unexpectedly tiring, he was excited to get away from everyone. At least when he was alone with Lance he only had to pretend for one person.

Just as soon as he thought this, though, a sudden, terrifying thought struck him. What if Lance wanted to have sex? What if he only wanted to go to bed early to he could participate in one of the many things couples did together?

God, he would know right away that Keith wasn’t his Keith! He was beyond inexperienced, and he was just glad all of their kisses so far had been simple, short ones, as he wasn’t quite sure he knew how to do those well either.

So it was with a newfound mixture of relief turned anxiety that he stood up from the couch, letting Lance run his hand up his back. “We’re off to bed,” he announced to the room, garnering them a couple “good night!”s and a suspicious look from Pidge’s direction.

Keith tried to tamp down his anxiety as they walked through the halls together. Where were they going, anyway? Keith’s room? Lance’s? Or had they gotten a whole new one after they’d started sleeping together?

He tried to imagine what he was going to do if Lance pulled a move on him. Maybe he could play the tired card — that was a viable answer, right? Or maybe it’d be less suspicious for him to just play along. Maybe it’d be a natural talent of his and he wouldn’t make any glaring or awkward mistakes.

Oh God, he was going to fuck everything up, wasn’t he?

They ended up going to Lance’s room, Lance typing in the passcode that Keith recognized from his own room in the past. Had Lance changed his passcode for him? He could almost imagine it, him trying to remember Lance’s passcode only to keep forgetting it, having to get Lance to remind him of it again and again. There was a reason he always used the same password for everything — and now Lance’s room was one of those things. _Their_  room.

And chanting _act natural_  in his mind probably wasn’t the best way to actually go about acting naturally, but Keith was too full of panic to really do anything else. Was there a certain routine they followed every night? Did they brush their teeth at the same time? Did they go to the bathroom and then put on their pajamas, or vice versa?

Did they even _wear pajamas_?!

Lance stopped by the closet, hanging his jacket over the door and stripping off his shirt. Keith’s mouth went dry and he started to avert his eyes before realizing that maybe that was weird. He could stare at his boyfriend changing, right? Lance’s body was toned and sculpted, shaped from hours spent in the training room, and he moved with an easy and comfortable confidence that spoke of familiarity in the bedroom. He had no qualms about changing in front of Keith.

Fortunately (or maybe _un_ fortunately, a traitorous part of Keith’s brain put in) Lance stopped stripping once he got to his boxers. He turned to see Keith — still fully dressed — just standing there and staring at him and rolled his eyes.

“I’m not letting you fall asleep in your clothes again,” he said sternly, pointing a finger at Keith with an eyebrow raised. “I don’t care what you say, it’s gross.”

Keith just scoffed, hoping that was an adequate answer, and began pulling off his clothes as well. Did they both sleep like this? In just boxers? God, he’d never be able to fall asleep. And he got cold pretty easily, too…

He almost missed it when Lance tossed a shirt at him, and he caught it out of the air more out of surprise than preparedness. Well, at least that answered one of his questions, he thought as he pulled the soft material over his head. He didn’t own anything this nice. It must’ve been Lance’s.

He picked up his own clothes after that, crossing to drop them into the little laundry chute Lance had already tossed his clothes into. In the morning, they’d be right back where they belonged, hanging up in the closet, not that Keith had ever figured out how that happened.

Lance was already in the bathroom by the time Keith managed to wander in there, mouth frothing with toothpaste as he brushed his teeth.

“‘Ere,” he said around a mouthful of foam, handing the toothpaste to Keith. And so Keith brushed his teeth next to him in a comfortable air of familiarity — one that most certainly didn’t belong to him.

Lance was done with his teeth before Keith and he moved immediately onto his face, picking up random jars and bottles that Keith sincerely hoped he wasn’t expected to know how to use. By the time he was spitting in the sink, Lance was nudging a small container his way, and Keith used it without question.

It seemed he and Lance worked together in a kind of familiar tandem. Keith tried to keep up, handing things to Lance that needed handing and taking the things that he offered. Lance would be leaning into the mirror, scrutinizing some blemish on his face that only he could see, and his fingers would wiggle in Keith’s direction expectantly. From there it was a terrifying game of guess-and-check, knowing that he’d give himself away if he handed Lance the wrong thing. His mind working at about a million miles a second, he’d figure that it wasn’t any of the things within Lance’s reach, and so he’d grab something from the other side of the sink — not the toothpaste, not the concealer, surely not the zit-cream — _but wait did Lance think he saw a zit?!_  — and hand it over with his breath caught somewhere in his lungs, sure he was about to be caught out.

Somehow, some _way_  he made it through their nightly routine unscathed, Lance humming happily as he finished rubbing his moisturizer into his skin.

“I’m excited for tomorrow,” Lance said, sitting down on the edge of their bed with now another bottle of lotion beside him. He took his time rubbing the lotion into his smooth, long legs. Had they always been that long?

“Oh yeah, um. Me too,” Keith said, not knowing exactly what he was supposed to be excited for. He crawled past Lance onto the bed, really hoping he normally slept on the wall side, because he’d realized it’d be weird for him to just stand in the middle of the room.

Lance turned to face him, flinging a leg over Keith’s lap. “You don’t need to pretend, babe,” Lance scoffed, leaning back on his hands. “I know you hate diplomatic missions.”

Oh shit. Keith _did_  hate diplomatic missions. They were always long and boring and he’d never really liked the parties and feasts that came with them anyway.

“Well, you know,” Keith hedged. “Maybe we’ll ending up having to fight something.”

Lance laughed, and Keith couldn’t help smiling. Making Lance laugh always felt like an accomplishment — he just, he always laughed with his whole body, his whole self. “You _would_  want that to happen, wouldn’t you?” And then he kicked Keith’s thigh and pouted. “C’mon,” he whined, kicking Keith again. “Lotion me.”

Keith couldn’t help it — he scoffed. “You’re so lazy,” he said, though he was reaching for the lotion anyway.

“I can’t help it if I want to live my best pampered life, dude,” Lance said, wiggling his toes. Keith snorted, but he lotion-ed Lance’s legs anyway. They really _were_  soft, and he dug his fingers into Lance in a kind of ghost of a massage.

Afterwards, Lance lifted the blankets and scrambled under, waiting for Keith to get in too before he tucked them back around them. He scooted right up to Keith, flinging a leg over his and pressing his cold toes against Keith’s calves. His hand slipped under Keith’s shirt, splaying out over his stomach, and he let out a long breath through his nose against Keith’s neck. Following his lead, Keith wrapped the arm Lance was already practically laying on around his back.

Lance hummed, pleased. “G’night,” he murmured. His thumb was rubbing back and forth over Keith’s stomach.

“Night, Lance,” Keith answered. Impulsively, he pressed his lips to Lance’s forehead. Lance’s answering smile wasn’t for him — not really.

It was only a couple minutes after that when Lance’s whole body completely relaxed, practically melting into him. His breaths were even and slow, and only occasionally did he move; a finger twitching against Keith’s skin here, his leg shifting more securely around Keith’s there. He laid with Keith, lived with him and loved him, with such ease.

It didn’t seem real. Keith could hardly even comprehend it. He’d never expected to have something like this for himself, especially after being ensconced on an Altean castle-ship and awarded the position of defender of the universe. There just didn’t seem to be any room for love, for a life like this, in that position.

Now, alone with his thoughts, Keith could finally just _think_  about Lance. He already spent plenty of time doing that — back in his time, anyway. He couldn’t help noticing Lance, taking in the way he moved, his graceful sidesteps when he had his eye on a target and his horrible fidgeting when he was doing just about anything else. The way his smile lit up his whole face, the way how his hair, having grown longer in their months spent in space, fell in front of his eyes, his fingers always brushing it away impatiently. Keith noticed his laughs, catalogued his touches — fist bumps and shoulder pats and, most recently, when he’s reached out to grab Keith’s elbows, steadying him after having run into him in the hallway in his hasty escape from Pidge, who he’d stolen her glasses from. It felt like Keith noticed _everything_  about him, his mind and body always on high alert when Lance was near him. The idea that his feelings, unreciprocated as he was sure they were, had developed into _this_  with _Lance_  was laughable.

And yet.

He couldn’t help but hope. He couldn’t help but hope this really was his future, one where he spent his nights with Lance, where Lance flirted with him and cuddled with him. One where Keith was used to being touched so easily, so simply.

It was like that, in his musings and without realizing, that he finally fell asleep, his fingers playing into Lance’s hair.

—

Pidge held up the gauzy, practically see-through garment they’d been sent by the Grenulu — the aliens they were supposed to be having diplomatic negotiations with today — and wrinkled her nose. “I don’t think I feel comfortable wearing this,” she commented, and Keith just thanked the fact that she wasn’t so different from his own Pidge, after all.

“At least yours is the right size,” Keith answered, bitter. It was true — Pidge’s garment was like a gauzy, horribly designed type of pantsuit, meanwhile the red ( _see-through_ ) fabric Keith was holding barely seemed like it would cover his ass.

“I don’t know what you guys are talking about,” Lance said dramatically. Unfortunately, he didn’t seem to be putting on a brave-face. He was holding his sheer blue garment with something like excitement in his eyes. “We’re gonna look hot af in these.”

“Why not just say ‘as fuck’?” Pidge demanded.

“Language,” Shiro muttered from across the room, his vulture ears always tuned into the cuss station, apparently.

“That’s why,” Lance said wisely.

“I’d rather die,” Keith said, drawing everyone’s attention back to the horrible imitation of clothing he was holding in his hands. “I don’t see why we can’t just wear our own clothes.”

“It’s customary Grenulu celebratory wear,” Allura said sternly, though Keith was at least pretty sure that she wasn’t ecstatic about wearing the clothes either, if the tentative way she was holding her pink outfit was any indication.

“We’ll be defenseless,” Keith pointed out. “No armor. And where are we supposed to keep our weapons?”

“You think we’re gonna get attacked?” Hunk said, suddenly looking nervous. “Keith has like — crazy gut instincts, guys. Maybe we shouldn't wear these outfits.”

Allura looked at him suspiciously. “Are you just saying that to get out of wearing it?”

Hunk winced. “No,” he said, quickly followed by, “Yes. Maybe. Only a little bit.”

“We’re gonna be fine, guys,” Lance hastily stepped in to assure everyone. He wrapped an arm easily around Keith’s shoulders, pulling them closer together. “He’s just being classic Keith. He’d rather be in danger than dressed up in a sexy alien get-up. Isn’t that right, honey-bun?”

“Shut up,” Keith groaned, shoving him away, and Lance laughed into his hair, refusing to be pushed aside.

Unfortunately, Allura would also rather wear the sexy get-up than agree with Keith. But it _was_  suspicious that the Grenulu so adamantly wanted them to wear these, right? That they would be defenseless? Or was this just something that happened in the future and they all happily went along with?

“Come on,” Lance said, more cheerfully than he deserved to be as he dragged Keith back down the halls towards Lance’s room. Their room.

There, Lance immediately stripped, and Keith followed his lead. After all, he’d experienced this the night before. Plus, it wasn’t like they hadn’t changed in front of each other before — you know, in the present. Past. Whatever.

Sometimes there was just no time. Sometimes Galra were shooting at the castle and they were ripping off their clothes and hoping into their paladin armor as they ran to their lions. When it came to saving the universe, they didn’t always have time for modesty, though they also didn’t have much time for ogling one another.

Lance had a much easier time figuring out how to put on his outfit than Keith did, and Keith wasn’t quite sure whether this was because he was Future Lance, more knowledgeable and experienced than Keith, or because he was _Lance_ , who just happened to have some sort of knack for fashion. Keith was still struggling into his garment — how was something with only five holes so confusing to figure out? — while Lance stood in front of the mirror, flattening the fabric over his torso and turning to the side, still looking at himself in the mirror. He caught sight of Keith in the reflection and snorted.

“Need some help?”

“The Grenulu have no business making their clothes so confusing,” Keith grumbled, as Lance stepped closer and carefully untangled his arm from what was apparently the leg-hole.

“They’re not confusing,” Lance said, now holding the fabric up as Keith maneuvered his arm into it. “You’re just dumb.”

An offended huff escaped Keith, except it sounded kind of like a laugh. “ _Rude_.”

“It’s only rude if it’s not true,” Lance said in the tone of someone repeating an old adage, which this most certainly wasn’t. Lance made up for it, however, by leaning forward and kissing Keith. Then he stepped backward, running a critical eye up and down Keith. “Hmm,” he intoned, rubbing his chin. “This could be a problem.”

“What? What is it?” Keith demanded immediately. Instead of waiting for an answer, he shoved past Lance to get in front of the mirror. God, he’d known these ridiculous outfits were a bad idea. He felt incredibly exposed, his legs and arms bare. It didn’t help that the fabric was so loose and flow-y and _sheer_. It felt like it would fall off Keith’s shoulders any moment, exposing him even more than he already was.

Looking in the mirror, he couldn’t help but cringe. So much of him was on display, his legs looking even paler next to the deep red fabric of the — let’s face it — romper. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d forgone pants.

“Yep,” Lance sighed regretfully, stepping up behind Keith and frowning into the mirror. Keith was scowling. “This is going to cause massive problems for me. How am I supposed to look at you all night without doing anything?”

It took Keith a moment to process that. He blinked, and then spluttered, “What?” Lance stepped forward, pressing his entire self against Keith’s back. His hands crept around to splay out on his stomach, and one moved teasingly in the direction of his crotch, though it stopped a few inches from it, thankfully.

“Yeah,” Lance sighed into his neck. He pressed his nose — the tip of it cold — against the skin there, which was rapidly growing hot as heat rose to Keith’s face. “You look really good. Is it bad I want to take this right back off you?”

“Anything to get me out of it,” Keith grumbled, still a mix of uncomfortable and flustered and, kind of terrifyingly, turned on. This made Lance laugh, and his breaths puffed out against Keith’s skin, which wasn’t helping the goosebumps creeping up all along his body.

Suddenly, Lance groaned, and he pulled himself away from Keith. “I wish,” he bemoaned, running his eyes regretfully over Keith, lingering — God, everywhere, it seemed like. “Allura’ll kill us if we hold everyone up again.”

He strode over to the door then, Keith following a bit dazedly after him. Lance cocked his head at him as the doors _wooshed_  open and he stepped over the threshold. “But I’ll help you out of it later,” he promised, voice dropping a few octaves. Keith felt something hot curl around the base of his spine. Unable to do much else, he nodded.

When they got back to the control room, it was proven that Lance was, in fact, a natural-born fashionista. Keith wasn’t the only one who’d struggled with putting on his Grenulu outfit, it appeared. One look at everyone gathered made that clear.

“Backwards,” Lance said, sounding almost bored, as he pointed at Hunk. And then Pidge, “What, you didn’t want to put your arms in it?”

“Those are _arm_  holes?”

“Shiro. Yours is upside down.”

Shiro, looking very uncomfortable, gaped in realization. “That explains… so much.”

Lastly, Lance raised an eyebrow at Allura. “Shouldn’t you, at least, be good at this?”

“Shut up and help us,” Allura grumbled.

Ten minutes later, with everyone wearing their clothes face-forward and right-side-out, they were ready to land on Planet Grenulu.

“This should be a fairly quick visit,” Allura explained. She pursed her lips, “Or, the diplomatic part should be quick,” she amended. “I never know how to gauge how long the afterparties will last.”

“In any case, the agreements _should_  be fast. We’ve exchanged several correspondences with the Grenulu queen in the past few quintants,” Coran chimed in. “If all goes well, this should be done in a giffy!”

“Jiffy, Coran,” Lance corrected. Then he swatted at Hunk, who was trying to pull the ends of his outfit down again. _You’ll stretch it_ , Lance had reprimanded several time in the past minutes.

“Tomato, Potato,” Coran said, waving a hand at Lance flippantly.

“It’s Tomato, Tomahto,” Lance said.

Coran squinted at Lance. “What’s the difference?”

“Never mind.”

With that, they were setting down on the planet and departing the castle-ship, trying to walk as naturally as they could when things felt breezier downstairs than usual. The Grenulu queen as well as several ambassadors greeted them, and they proceeded to sit through a long and boring meeting of diplomatic jargon. That, at least, hadn’t changed in however much time had passed.

What _had_  changed was the parties afterward. Keith had been to these parties before, he knew he didn’t like them. It was full of important officials from whichever planet they were visiting, all of whom wanted to talk to the paladins and brag about themselves and their people without sounding like they were trying to brag. Keith usually spent the night standing against a wall and trying to look as threatening as possibly, which actually worked a lot of the time. Not many people wanted to talk to a murderous-looking paladin holding a specialized Altean weapon.

Except — he was dating Lance, now. And Lance liked to have fun.

The second the party started, everyone dispersing from the formal hall into a bigger, decorated one, Lance pointed across the room and said, “There.” He grabbed Keith’s hand and dragged him through what was rapidly turning into a dance floor, ending up beside a long table full of small foods and bowls of liquid. Rubbing his chin, he squinted at the table’s layout and let out an inquisitive sound. “This one,” he finally said, scooping two cups into one of the bowls and handing one to Keith. “This one’s the space booze.”

“You sure about that?” Keith questioned, sniffing his cup. It smelled fruity.

“We both know my guesses are right more often than yours,” Lance scoffed, and then he took a tentative sip of his drink before downing it all in one with a grimace. “Seriously, this is the only way to get through these parties.”

This surprised Keith. He’d always gotten the feeling that Lance liked the parties, liked the attention and the people. He’d certainly enjoyed flirting at them. Still, Keith did his best not to let his surprise show, and he chugged his drink down as well. Lance grinned, immediately refilling their two cups. Just then, Shiro walked by.

“Take it easy, you two,” he said warningly, crossing his arms as he looked between Lance and Keith and the cups in their hands. “We don’t need a repeat of last time.”

“Trust me,” Lance said, “I don’t think that’s even possible.” Keith laughed along with him, deciding he was bored of being left out of everything. What the hell had happened last time?

Although soon enough, Keith couldn’t care less about what had happened last time. Back in _his_  time, he never drank any of the alcohol-like substances provided. None of them really did — they were worried about slipping up and making a bad impression, after all. So yeah, Keith had never been drunk before. Maybe _this_  Keith and _this_  body had, but his mind? That was experiencing all of this for the first time.

“Woah,” Keith giggled, leaning against Lance as the room seemed to tilt back and forth around them. They were leaning against a pillar, their shoulders pressing warmly together. If this were the past, Keith would probably be freaking out over that. He’d probably be wondering if it meant something. He kept finding himself wanting to say something, wanting to mention his time-traveling stunt, wanting to ask how they’d ended up dating anyway, but he managed to hold his tongue. That’d probably give him a few problems come morning.

“You lightweight,” Lance snorted, but he wrapped his arm around Keith’s shoulders in a gesture that was only loving. He squeezed Keith a bit closer to himself, then, turning his face and pressing his nose into his hair. He kissed the side of Keith’s head. “You smell good,” he said.

“I used your shampoo,” Keith commented. It was true. That morning, he’d woken up before Lance and decided he needed a shower. He hadn’t been sure whether it would come across as weird, him getting out of bed before Lance, but he’d figured it was worth it if it meant not having to shower with him. He wasn’t sure how often couples actually did that, but he wasn’t leaving anything up to chance if he could help it.

“I knew it! You _thief_ ,” Lance said, except without any heat. And then, “How about I get us another drink?”

“As long as I don’t have to stop leaning on this pillar,” Keith answered, and Lance’s body heat was unwinding from his, leaving him standing there alone with a head that felt heavier than usual and eyes that seemed to move slower than they were supposed to.

He quickly lost sight of Lance in the crowd, the milling and dancing crowd of the Grenulu almost immediately obscuring him from sight. Lance had convinced him to dance earlier, dragging him into the middle of the floor and wrapping him up in his arms, swaying back and forth.

“You barely put up any of a fight, this time,” Lance had said, before dipping Keith and making the world spend. Keith had just been relieved that he didn’t suddenly like dancing in the future.

“Figured I’d save myself some time,” Keith had answered, and then, taking a wild shot in the dark, “You always get your way, anyway.”

He’d been right, and Lance had laughed, and everything had gone along smoothly. Keith wished it was really this easy. That he could just talk and laugh with Lance, could touch him without putting so much thought into it. Just the other week, he’d worked himself up for twenty minutes, trying to convince himself to pat Lance on the shoulder after he’d blown up an entire Galra ship with one well-placed shot. In the end, he’d chickened out and just smiled at him instead. (Shiro had asked him why he was grimacing.)

“Hey,” Lance said suddenly, sounding kind of breathless. He pressed himself up against Keith’s side, right in his personal space — not that that was really a concept he had in the future, apparently. It was like he and Lance shared their personal space, now.

“Hey,” Keith answered, amused. He glanced down at Lance’s hands, which were empty. “You forget the drinks?”

For a second, Lance blanched, and then he shook his head and shrugged nonchalantly. “Too long of a line,” he said. He glanced around the room then, eyes scanning the crowd almost intently. He said, “You wanna get out of here?”

Keith’s brain stuttered to a stop. He _didn’t_  want to get out of there, not really. Not if it meant that they were going to do whatever Lance was probably implying. He couldn’t imagine future him wanting to hook up in some closet or stairwell or something, but Lance was looking at him intently, already kind of tugging on his hand, and Keith felt helpless to say no. That would be suspicious, right?

And so he went with him, let Lance tug him out of the room, and then Lance was leading him down a series of hallways. Keith had no idea how he knew his way around.

“Here,” Lance said suddenly, and he shoved open a random door. The room beyond it was small, probably intended to be a supply closet, except it was barren of any actual supplies. Lance ushered Keith inside and shut the door behind them, immediately crowding against Keith, pushing him into the wall.

“Woah,” Keith murmured, biting down on a grunt of pain when his head bonked against the wall at Lance’s forcefulness. Then Lance’s hands were running almost roughly down his sides, fingers digging into his skin, and he latched his lips against Keith’s. Without preamble, one of his hands left Keith’s side, groping uncomfortably at his crotch. Keith turned his head away, breaking the kiss, and placed his hands against Lance’s chest, trying to push him away.

“Lance, wait — I don’t want… I’m not —”

“Shh,” Lance whispered, pressing his lips against Keith’s neck now.

“Lance, wait — stop. I’m not — I’m not in the mood,” he said stiltedly, and Lance didn’t stop, kept touching him. It was so unlike Lance, so unlike the relationship Keith had witnessed between the two of them, the understanding and loving nature of every single gesture between them.

This didn’t seem like Lance at all.

With a gasp, Keith shoved Lance away, harder than he would’ve if he thought this was really _Lance_. Lance — or at least, the man that looked like him — grunted in annoyance, his expression darkening in anger.

“You’re not Lance,” Keith said lowly, feeling sober again.

“I don’t know what you mean,” not-Lance said, but he was wearing a terrible grin. Keith thanked the universe, then, that he was so used to being paranoid, as he whipped a knife out from underneath his Grenulu outfit. He’d had it tucked through the waistband of his underwear, which wasn’t exactly comfortable and honestly could’ve done him some pretty bad damage had he tripped or something, but was the only place he’d been able to think of putting it.

And so he held the knife up against not-Lance’s throat, and after that the not-Lance came quietly. He was wearing the same exact outfit as the real Lance, the outfit the Grenulu had forced them to wear, which could only mean one thing.

“Shiro,” Keith said shortly, having dragged not-Lance at knife-point back to the party and to Shiro’s side.

“Keith!” Shiro said, staring between him and Lance in surprise. “What are you doing to Lance?”

“This isn’t Lance,” Keith said. “It’s a clone.”

Shiro’s eyes widened, and not-Lance’s upper lip curled up in a snarl.

Just then, a familiar voice called out, “There you are! I’ve been looking all over for you, babe.” Lance — the real Lance — was holding two drinks, smiling as he looked at Keith. And then he noticed his expression, and Shiro beside him, and his eyes slid to the clone.

“What the fuck?”

After that, it was a quick round-up of team Voltron and then a not-so-quick battle against the Grenulu, who’d lured them all here on Zarkon’s behalf. Apparently there were clones of each of them wandering throughout the crowd.

Thankfully, not all the Grenulu were in on the queen’s dastardly plans — the plain old citizens ran for it, screaming and cowering, while the queen’s guards and the Voltron clones took to the fray. The hardest part was fighting the clones, because they didn’t want to hurt someone who looked and sounded just like their friends, and they kept saying stuff like, “No, stop! _I’m_  the real Hunk, don’t shoot!”

In the end, they tied up all the clones and abandoned them on the planet, unable to properly dispose of their own look-a-likes. Pidge got scans and blood samples from them, though, which she said she would try to analyze for discrepancies as soon as possible.

All in all, amidst all the fighting and craziness of the evening, Keith had almost forgotten what’d happened to him.

Back on the castle-ship and surrounded by an exhausted team, Shiro suddenly frowned and looked at Keith. “You never did say how you knew Lance was a clone,” he said, and murmurs of agreement rung out around the room.

“Oh, um,” Keith said awkwardly. But everyone was looking at him expectantly, and he couldn’t really think of any excuses. “Just — he, um. He took me into this closet, and…” Everyone was looking at him intently, wearing expectant and wary expressions. Keith let his gaze drift to the ground, feeling inexplicably embarrassed. “He… He didn’t stop when I told him to,” Keith said, chancing a glance back at the room. “You know. Touching me.”

Lance’s expression shattered, and everyone else’s eyes widened, looking upset. Immediately, Keith apologized. “I’m sorry, I know,” he said hastily, gaze darting from Lance to the floor and back again. “I should’ve figured it out sooner, or I should’ve, could’ve…” He trailed off, feeling horribly guilty, for some reason. He’d practically cheated on Lance, hadn’t he? Lance must be furious, knowing he’d kissed someone, been touched by someone, who wasn’t him — not really…

“What are you apologizing for?” Lance sounded thunderous, or maybe distraught. “God — are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Keith assured hastily, blinking in surprise. “He didn’t hurt me, so —“

“That’s not what I meant,” Lance interrupted. Keith kept waiting for someone else to chime in, but everyone was sitting there silently, as if they’d elected Lance to be their spokesperson. “Someone touched you without your permission. Are you okay?”

“I mean, he looked like you —” Keith hedged, for some reason unwilling to admit that he wasn’t exactly feeling 100%. He felt weirdly embarrassed that everyone even knew what’d happened to him. He felt... weak. And ashamed.

“But he wasn’t,” Lance cut in. He looked so serious, none of his usual joking demeanor anywhere to be seen. “Someone touched you in a way they shouldn’t have and it’s perfectly normal to be upset.” Lance’s eyes softened, then, running all over Keith’s face, his expression so clearly worried.

Keith swallowed. He shrunk in on himself a bit. “Um,” he said. “It was a little... scary.”

Finally, Lance stood up from where he’d been sitting on the coffee table, facing him and leaning forward intently ever since this conversation had started. He plopped himself down on Keith’s lap and wrapped his arms around him, holding him tightly. Keith hugged him back.

“I’m sorry that happened to you,” Lance whispered, a hand having come up to bury itself in Keith’s hair. He stroked the strands slowly, pulling on them just barely. He leaned back then, and he kissed Keith on the nose. And then under his eye. And then under his other eye. Finally, he sat up a bit and just wrapped his arms around Keith’s head, pulling him into his chest and dropping a kiss in his hair. “I love you,” Lance said.

“I love you, too,” Keith answered, muffled in Lance’s chest. No one seemed to mind their physical display of affection, and Keith couldn’t bring himself to feel embarrassed about it. It was nice to have Lance hugging him, touching him. Replacing the unwelcome feeling of the clone’s hands on his body. He finally leaned away to just smile at Keith.

“Well,” Pidge suddenly said, breaking the silence that’d fallen over the rest of the paladins. “I guess we have Lance’s gentlemanly nature to thank for the clone’s discovery.”

Keith snorted, amused despite himself, and Pidge rounded the couch and buried a hand in his hair, scrubbing it noogie-like. “Hey!” Keith protested, trying to lean out of range, but Lance was still hugging him and his hands were pinned down. By the time Pidge stepped away, the damage was done.

There was a flurry of everyone loving Keith after that, and Lance ended up getting off Keith’s lap because Hunk wanted a hug, and then so did Shiro, and then so did Allura...

Honestly, Keith just couldn’t help admiring how well they all worked together, how thankful he was for all his friends. He was constantly cataloguing the differences between this future version of his team and the version he was used to, but they really weren’t that different at all. Still the amazing, loving people he was used to, after all.

—

Days passed. Every night Keith went to bed, wondering if he’d wake up back where he was supposed to be, and every morning he woke up and felt his stomach sink a little bit further. He loved his team, obviously, and he loved being with them and felt safer with them than he would with anyone else, but that didn’t combat the fact that they weren’t exactly _Keith’s_  team. Like, sure, they were, but only in a year or two. They had all these shared experienced that Keith couldn’t relate to, all these memories that Keith didn’t feature in.

He was exhausted, constantly backtracking and cleaning up accidental slip-ups he’d made in conversation. And there were inside jokes he didn’t get, things he was expected to laugh at that didn’t make any sense to him. Really, he was starting to wonder if he would ever be able to go back. Was there something he was expected to do? Did he need to go back to that planet, get caught in another sandstorm, and hope he ended up where he was supposed to be?

He didn’t have an answer for that question, and he had no idea whether the rest of the team did either. The hardest part about this was being in it on his own. He was so used to being able to depend on his team, so used to learning to accept them, to include them in his problems, and now he was suddenly on his own again. It was infuriating.

And Lance, apparently, could sense his stress, even if he didn’t know where exactly it was coming from. “You okay?” he asked, as he started pulling off his clothes and getting ready for bed.

“Yeah,” Keith said, except it was a lie, and Future Lance was adept at knowing when Keith was lying. So he stepped forward and grabbed Keith’s chin, tilting his head up and pressing their lips briefly together.

“You want to relax?” he asked. “I could whip us up a nice bubblebath. I even got some more of that salt scrub you like at the last swap moon.”

And really, a bubblebath _did_  sound good. And Keith had no idea what it would look like if he refused, and he wanted to keep his cover, so…

“That’d be nice,” he said, and Lance beamed, kissing him again.

“You wait here,” he instructed. “I’ll go fill up the bath.”

So Keith waited there. He pulled off his shirt and pants, leaving his boxers due to a shyness he hadn’t quite shed. He knew that he and Lance were dating in the future, knew that Lance must’ve seen his junk a thousand times by now, but Keith had never even been naked in front of someone else before, in his time, at least.

Lance poked his head out of the doorway, the bathroom filled with the sound of running water, and announced that the bath was ready. Keith wandered into the bathroom and was greeted by an already naked Lance, leaning over to grab some sort of soap and being completely at ease in front of Keith.

“I hope it’s not too hot,” Lance said idly, stepping one foot into the tub before another. Keith shucked off his boxers, figuring it’d be weird if he kept them on any longer, and hoped any redness in his face was attributed to the steam in the bathroom.

Lance sat down against the side of the tub, his legs spread, and held out a hand for Keith, which he took. He was then maneuvered between Lance’s legs, his back against Lance’s chest and Lance immediately tangling their legs together.

Lance sighed softly behind him, and Keith leaned his head back against his shoulder, closing his eyes. It did feel nice. It felt really nice.

It was a kind of comfortable Keith couldn’t remember ever experiencing before. He was so wound up a lot of the time, and he didn’t usually get things off his mind by “relaxing”. No, he went and trained until his only option was to pass out and forget about it forcibly. This was completely different, and so much better.

Lance’s arms were wrapped easily around his middle, and every other minute or so Lance dropped a kiss onto his shoulder, his collar bone, his neck. They talked, their voices low and matching the atmosphere, chatting about any inconsequential thing that came to their minds.

Eventually, Lance pulled out the scrub that Keith apparently liked. He dolloped some onto his hands and took to lathering it on Keith’s body. First, he had Keith lean forward, rubbing the scrub into his back, his shoulders, his arms, and then he pulled Keith back against his chest, rubbing it down his chest. Keith couldn’t help sucking in a breath when Lance’s hands moved over his nipples, the tiny grains of salt rubbing over the apparently sensitive skin. Something Keith had never realized.

Lance, of course, noticed this, or just already knew, because he did it again and pressed a kiss against the back of Keith’s neck as he did. But then he moved on, hands moving down Keith’s stomach, over his sides, his thighs. Keith couldn’t help getting turned on, the casual touching so wonderfully good, something he was completely unused to.

And Lance noticed this as well, obviously. His knuckles brushed against his arousal as he rubbed the scrub as far as he could get without either of them changing their positions. A lot of the scrub had dissolved under the water, and now it was less Lance rubbing the scrub in and more Lance running his fingers over his body. He brushed against Keith’s cock a second time and Keith’s breathing hitched, and Lance kissed his shoulder again.

“Is this okay?” he murmured quietly. His left hand was on Keith’s stomach now, his fingers scratching lightly at the sensitive skin there. “After — with the clone, I mean. It’s okay if you don’t —”

“It’s okay,” Keith interrupted, leaning back and turning his head to look at Lance, who was worrying his lip in concern. “It’s good.”

“Okay,” Lance said, expression easing a bit as he looked over Keith. “But tell me if you want me to stop, okay?”

Keith nodded, and Lance kissed him, except they weren’t exactly in the best position for it so it landed on the corner of his lips. Lance wrapped his long, tanned fingers around Keith’s cock and started stroking, slow and sensual and really fucking good. He paid close attention to the sensitive part beneath the head, ran his thumb over the tip and his fingers along the vein, and Keith felt like he was coming apart in Lance’s hands.

This Lance clearly knew what he was doing, clearly knew what Keith liked. His fingers seemed to have Keith memorized, and he hummed into his skin whenever Keith’s breath hitched, whenever a moan caught in his throat.

The way he stroked Keith was slow and agonizing and just what Keith liked. Whenever he did it himself, he tried to keep it this way, tried to keep it slow, but he always grew impatient too fast, always ended up speeding up and ending it before it really began. And technically, this was the first time anyone else had touched Keith. Ever.

Sure, his body might have experienced this before — experienced _a lot_  of this before — but Keith had never before had anyone’s hands on him but his own and he kind of thought he might combust. He ended up tilting his head back, cushioned on Lance’s shoulder as he stared at the ceiling, eyes fluttering shut in pleasure, pants escaping raggedly through his throat.

And then Lance’s free hand started exploring his chest again, covered once more in that scrub, though Keith hadn’t noticed him grabbing the container. It was agonizing — he was still stroking Keith, slow and steady and oh so good, and his fingers were dancing around his skin, getting closer and closer to the sensitive nubs on his chest without ever actually touching them.

But then he did touch them, and this time he wasn’t rubbing over them lightly, almost uncaringly — this time he was paying them very close attention indeed. He circled them, ran his fingers over them, let the scrub on his hands make them even more sensitive before he pinched them, pulled them, and Keith was going fucking insane, what the _fuck_. They’d never felt like this before, not when he was doing it alone, but somehow Lance, of all people, made him feel like _this_.

Embarrassingly enough, Keith started making these… noises, as he grew closer and closer to his release. His head was still tilted back and he started whining, almost. Making these needy little noises with every exhale, and he couldn’t help it. His hands came down to clench on Lance’s thighs and he tilted his face into his neck, futilely trying to muffle the sounds coming out of his mouth.

“That good?” Lance murmured, turning his lips closer to Keith’s ear. “You close, baby?”

“Fuck,” Keith whispered. He tried to buck up into Lance’s hand, but at some point Lance’s legs had become less entangled with his and more pinning them down.

He was really breathing heavily now, his mouth open and his breaths surely hot against Lance’s throat. “Faster,” he panted, begged. “Faster, Lance.”

Lance hummed against him. “Mmm,” he said. “No can-do, buttercup.” And he kept that same, slow pace, despite Keith practically vibrating against him, despite his moans growing louder as he got closer, despite his hips trying and failing to buck into Lance’s hand, his fingers, the pressure, the flick of his wrist — all of it so _good_.

“Oh God,” Keith said, voice strained. “Oh God, oh fuck, I’m — Lance, I’m, I’m —” He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t manage to get the words out, but Lance knew exactly what he meant. He pinched Keith’s nipple, hard, and he stroked Keith slowly, _slowly_  even as he came, as his entire body tensed and shook against Lance’s, before he finally relaxed, panting hard. His eyes were slow to open, and it took him a moment to realize his mouth was hanging open.

Lance was smirking at him, and Keith snapped his mouth shut, feeling the heat rise to his cheeks. Lance just wrapped his arms around his stomach and hugged him tighter. “You were so noisy,” he said, sounding delighted. “Like when we first starting having sex.”

Keith was melting against Lance. He was pretty sure he didn’t have any bones in his body. “I was wound up,” he said in his defense, and Lance snorted against his skin.

“I liked it,” he said. “I like you.”

“You love me,” Keith said, and he felt Lance’s smile against him.

And then Keith sat up and spun around, pushing up his metaphorical sleeves and getting ready to bullshit his way through a hand job that was supposed to be expert-level.

—

Keith should’ve realized that he wouldn't be able to keep up this ruse forever. He hadn’t wanted to imagine the possibility of getting caught, and refusing to do so meant he’d never come up with a plan in the event that it did happen. It must’ve been one casual slip-up too many, one stutter too much, because something apparently put Keith on the radar.

The team was chilling in the lounge, a movie pulled up on the screen and popcorn-like snakes distributed in bowls around the room. Keith couldn’t remember the last time he’d been able to watch a movie, and he was trying to hold back his excitement over something that was clearly normal to the rest of the team.

They’d only just all sat down, smushed together on couches and tucking blankets under their feet and making the last adjustments for ultimate comfiness. Lance was holding the remote, and he seemed to be the unofficial director of the movie night. He’d only just pressed play, the lights automatically dimming, when Keith nudged Lance.

“Pass the bowl, babe,” he said, gesturing towards the snack situated on Hunk’s lap, sitting on the other side of Lance. He’d never really felt like a pet-names kind of guy, but with the amount Lance called him — like, a hundred different ones, every day — he figured it would only help him blend in to call him one back.

Except everyone froze. The room fell silent, any chatter, any shuffled movements, ceasing completely. Even the beginnings of the movie stopped, though that was due to Lance pausing it.

“Excuse me, _what_?” said Lance, sitting forward and leaning to look at Keith, who was frowning, confused.

“Pass me the bowl? I’m hungry.”

“No,” said Lance. “After that.”

Keith didn’t respond, figuring that somehow, he had fucked up. Lance continued even without Keith’s response. “You never call me babe,” he said slowly, looking at Keith suspiciously. “You think pet names are cheesy.”

Keith knew for a fact that he didn’t think that, because his heart felt full every time a pet-name slipped easily from Lance’s mouth, but. It made sense, that he might lie about that, just to be stubborn. It made sense that he’d let Lance call him all those names without having to say them himself, the words feeling stiff and awkward and unnatural in his mouth.

But Keith tried to play this off. He shrugged. “I’m trying something new?” he said, but it came out sounding like a question, and Lance’s eyes narrowed at him. Everyone else was looking suspicious too, kind of stiff in their seats and wondering what exactly was going on.

 _Oh fuck,_  Keith thought, his hands twisting together anxiously underneath the blanket. _Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck._

Lance smiled then, and Keith felt something in his stomach loosen. He didn’t know what he did, but he must’ve done it right, if Lance was smiling at him like that again.

“Hey Keith?” Lance said, except he sounded kind of… cold. Keith swallowed. It was fine, everything would be fine, everyone would stop staring at him like this and it would be _fine_.

“Yeah?”

“I’m excited for this movie,” Lance said, and wow. This was weird. Why was he announcing this to Keith? Why was the movie on hold just for him to say this? Why was everyone watching so intently?

“Me too.”

“It kind of reminds me of our first kiss,” Lance said, and he sounded almost shy as he said this, and Keith smiled at him. “Just, how it all happened, you know? Like, I just ran into you in the corridor at night, and finally we couldn’t take it anymore and suddenly we were kissing. Remember?”

Keith nodded. “How could I forget?”

And just like that, the room exploded into chaos. Lance flung himself off the couch and subsequently tripped over the low table before it, and everyone else scrambled to their feet. Keith, shocked, followed suit, adrenaline suddenly pumping through his veins, his instincts shouting _threat_!

“What’s —”

 _Click_. Keith started, twisting his head to see Shiro, who was standing behind him, having just handcuffed Keith.

“Shiro?”

“Let’s go,” Shiro said, ignoring Keith, and as one the team poured out of the lounge, Shiro shoving Keith along none-too-delicately.

“Ow, Shiro, you’re hurting me,” Keith protested, struggling instinctively, but Shiro just twisted his arms a bit harder, making Keith hiss. “Stop it — what’s going on?”

“Stop acting like you don’t know, _clone_ ,” Lance hissed, glaring at Keith. “And where’s the real Keith, anyway, huh? What did you do with him?!”

“I am the real Keith!” Keith protested, struggling anew.

“The real Keith would know our first kiss wasn’t in the the hallway in the middle of the night,” Lance scoffed.

“Yeah!” Hunk chimed in. “The real Keith would know your first kiss was really —”

“ _Don’t say it_!” Lance shouted, slapping a hand over Hunk’s mouth. “He already knows too much!”

“Guys, seriously, listen to me,” Keith protested, growing frantic now. It seemed like they were headed towards the airlock, and he really didn’t want to get thrown out into space. “I’m the real Keith!”

“That’s what a clone would say,” Pidge immediately rebutted.

“So would the real me!”

“I’m gonna rip your eyes out, clone,” Lance threatened, and Keith gaped at him, kind of sure he was exaggerating but also scared anyway.

“Stop trying to intimidate him, Lance,” Shiro said. “He’ll give us all the answers we need — he already knows he’s caught.”

Thankfully, they passed the airlock without throwing Keith out of it and into another room, apparently an interrogation room. There, they chained Keith to a chair, Shiro shoving him roughly into it and Keith unable to hold back a grunt. He was pretty sure his wrists were gonna be bruised.

“This is certainly worrisome,” Allura said, standing anxiously by the door. “I don’t know how he even got on the ship. How long has he been imitating Keith?”

“Oh my God,” Lance suddenly said, eyes going wide. “You don’t think we left the real Keith with the Grenulu, do you?!”

Everyone looked worried at that, exchanging nervous glances with each other. “Pidge, I take it your clone-detector isn’t ready yet?” Allura asked.

Pidge shook her head. “I don’t have enough information,” she said regretfully. “It thinks everything’s a clone, right now.”

Keith cleared his throat. “Let me explain,” he said.

“The only thing I wanna hear you explain is how you’re going to eject yourself into space after you tell us where Keith is,” Lance said lowly. Hunk wrapped a comforting arm around his shoulders.

“I _am_  the real Keith,” Keith insisted, growing more and more irritated. “I’m just — I’m from the past.”

Everyone stared at him for a moment.

“Great,” Lance announced, throwing a hand into the air dramatically. “Not only did we get tricked by a clone, we got tricked by a _stupid_  clone.”

“I’m serious!” Keith said. “I know I don’t look like I’m from the past, but my mind is. I got stuck in this sandstorm and I crashed, and then I woke up here. Remember Pidge?” he said, growing desperate. “When you woke me up on the couch?”

“I — what?” Pidge said, shaking her head. “This doesn’t make sense. And why wouldn’t you just tell us right away?”

“Because you were all going on about clones and how they’d say anything to trick you. I was trying to figure out how to get back by myself.”

“Likely story,” Lance muttered.

“Don’t you guys remember this happening?” Keith asked, coming to a sudden realization. “Like, I must get back to my time eventually, right? And then I’m gonna tell you all about this. Don’t you remember?”

“No,” Lance said, crossing his arms and glaring at Keith. “So there. You’re a clone. Maybe you’re not so stupid — you thought of that excuse pretty fast — but you’re right. We would remember if you’d suddenly come back from the past.”

“Not if he didn’t tell us,” Pidge suddenly piped up.

“Or if he forgets about all of this,” Hunk said, waving his hand vaguely. “You know, when he goes back.”

Keith panicked. “I don’t want to forget this!” he exclaimed, his heart seizing at the thought of just forgetting that all of this had happened, forgetting that they’re all okay in the future, forgetting that Lance loved him. Unintentionally, his eyes drifted to Lance, panicking over the thought of forgetting the kisses they’d shared, the way he always dug his cold toes into Keith’s body, the way he touched him without ever having to think about it.

He didn’t want to forget. He didn’t want to forget any of it.

Lance was still glaring at Keith, unwilling to believe him, but Pidge seemed to pick up on his panic. “I don’t think you’ll forget,” she hastily assured. “I think you’ll realize that you can’t tell anyone about the future because timelines are difficult. When you go back, your visit with us will have to be our little secret.”

“Deal,” Keith said, hoping that she was right, that the universe wouldn’t take away his memories after all of this.

“Are you guys seriously believing him?” Lance demanded, looking at everyone angrily. “How could he possibly prove that he’s the Keith from like, a year and a half ago? Like, if you’re the real Keith, how long have you loved me?”

Keith stomped down on his initial terror at the idea of answering that question. “Um. Since we first formed Voltron, really.” He swallowed uncomfortably. “Does that answer your question? Do you believe me now?”

“No idea,” Lance sighed, except his lip was twitching. “Keith always refuses to tell me.”

Keith gaped, offended and embarrassed and _oh God, I’m sorry future me_.

“There’s gotta be some other way to convince you, then,” Pidge said, and Lance shrugged.

“Can’t think of anything.

Embarrassed, Keith cleared his throat. “Um,” he said. “Didn’t you say… when we were in the bath…” he trailed off, hoping Lance would fill in the memory for himself. God, this was horrible. Everyone was just looking between him and Lance, apparently unperturbed by the idea of them in the bath together, possibly doing… Well. They know.

“Say what?” Lance demanded.

Face hot now, Keith said lowly, “You said that I sounded like… The first times we did… Um.”

And then Lance’s eyes widened, and his mouth fell open, and he stared at Keith incredulously. “Oh my God!” he said.

“Of course it takes sex to convince him,” Pidge muttered under her breath, and Keith stared at her, horrified.

“Oh man, this is definitely past Keith,” Hunk said. “Look, he’s all flustered by sex-talk again.”

“Can everyone just stop saying sex?!” Keith shouted, and this made everyone laugh. Keith was still chained to a fucking chair. He kind of wanted to die.

Suddenly, Lance gasped. “Holy shit!” he said, pointing at Keith. “Was that the first time you’d ever —”

_“Shut up!”_

“— cause I mean, when _we_  first did it you’d said it wasn’t your first time, but then you were all stingy about telling me who _was_ , and —”

“Can someone please untie me?” Keith begged, and it was Shiro who took pity on him, coming forward and undoing the handcuffs. Keith rubbed his wrists, and Shiro immediately apologized about being so rough with him.

And so then Keith was standing there, arms crossed uncomfortably, while Lance rambled on and Pidge and Hunk stared at him like he was an anomaly. Allura and Coran had disappeared at some point, though Keith was pretty sure they’d mention something about research before slipping out the door.

Eventually, finally, everyone decided that Keith had suffered enough. Pidge and Hunk went to go help with the research, Pidge already talking fervently to Hunk about the logistics of randomized time-travel, and Shiro followed after them, murmuring something about the princess.

Without really talking about it, Keith turned to leave the room, and Lance followed him. He didn’t touch him as they walked, didn’t grab his hand or wrap an arm around his waist, and it was only then that Keith realized how used he was to Lance touching him. At first it’d kind of startled him, thrown him off, but now he barely even noticed it.

They went to their room without ever discussing where they were going, and the door slid open to admit them after Keith typed in the familiar code. When it closed behind him, he felt his shoulders slump in a bit. He felt a little bit better, at least. Now that everybody knew, he wouldn’t have to worry so much about slipping up. And now they were going to help him get back to his own time.

So why did he still feel so anxious?

“Are you okay?” Lance asked, stepping in closer to Keith. He still didn’t touch him. Didn’t rub his arm or caress his cheek.

“Yeah,” Keith said, and Lance immediately rolled his eyes.

“Let me rephrase: what’s wrong?”

Keith pursed his lips. “I don’t know…” he said slowly. “I’m just — kind of worried. About when I go back.”

“You’re still afraid you’ll forget?” Lance asked, and Keith shrugged, worrying his lip.

“Okay, so not that,” Lance concluded.

“I’m just…” Keith started, and then he felt his stupid face do a horrible job of hiding his embarrassment, his cheeks growing warm. “I’m gonna miss you,” Keith finally relented, refusing to look Lance in the eye.

“Aww,” Lance said, and Keith couldn’t help looking at him. He was smirking. He was the worst. “But I’ll be there too, you know.”

“Not _you_ ,” Keith said. “I mean — it’ll be past you. He hates me.”

“No he doesn’t,” Lance said immediately, and then he looked confused. “I mean… no I don’t?”

Keith crossed his arms. Lance continued. “Really, I don’t. I’m just — you know. A dumb teen. I’ve got a lot of stress and a lot of… feelings… and I’m bad at directing it. But I’ll get better soon. You’ll see.”

“How soon?” Keith asked, desperate. He didn’t think he’d be able to stand it, going back there and being so distant from Lance all the sudden.

Lance just smirked again. “You’ve gotten enough spoilers,” he said. “I think we’ll leave that one a surprise.”

Keith groaned, hanging his head, but Lance stepped in and pulled him into a hug. “You’ll be all right,” he promised. “Just give it time.”

Keith stayed silent for a moment. And then, “Can we go watch that movie?” he asked quietly. “I was really excited about that.” Lance laughed, squeezing him tighter, before leading the way back to the lounge.

—

Really, it was kind of dumb on Keith’s part to not realize he was going to run out of time. The second Pidge and Hunk found about about his predicament, his time here had been limited.

Still, had he known this was going to be his last night here, he would’ve maybe cuddled Lance a little more desperately. As it was, he’d barely even managed to get Lance into the bed with him.

“Maybe I should sleep on the floor tonight,” Lance had said, after stripping off only his pants and leaving on his shirt. Lance never slept in his shirt.

“Why would you do that?” Keith had demanded.

“I don’t know, it’s just… I mean. You’re like — not _my_  Keith. You know?”

Keith had frowned. “I get it,” he’d said slowly. “But I still think you should get in the bed.”

“Keith —”

“I mean you’ve already cuddled with me before —”

“Before I knew you weren’t my Keith —”

“And I don’t see what difference it’ll make —”

“ _And_  I’m already going to have to explain that I gave his younger counterpart a hand job —”

“Don’t say that!” Keith had interrupted, red in the face, and Lance had groaned and climbed into the bed.

“Never mind,” he’d said. “You’re clearly no threat to him. He’ll understand.”

“Plus, he already knows this happened,” Keith had pointed out.

It’d taken another ten minutes for Lance to let them cuddle.

And now, when he was supposed to be sleeping peacefully and getting the last cuddles out of Lance that he could, the door burst open.

“Guys!” It was Pidge. Keith startled awake, drowsy with sleep, and Lance groaned beneath him. Despite his protests about cuddling, he certainly hadn’t minded once he was asleep, his arms still wound tightly around Keith.

“Pidge,” Lance said, his voice scratchy. “What the fuck have I said about bursting into our room?”

“I can’t believe she knows the password,” Keith muttered.

“Are you kidding?” Lance said. “You use that password for everything, she could ruin your life.”

“ _Guys_ ,” Pidge said, more urgently this time, and they finally slid apart and sat up. Lance’s hair was a mess. It was adorable.

“What is it, Pidgeon?” said Lance.

“We know how to get Keith back!”

And though Keith had been kind of dreading it, knowing the Lance of the past didn’t love him yet, he couldn’t stop the excited flutter in his stomach. He was going home!  
“You do?” Keith said eagerly.

“And Keith’ll be okay?” Lance said, just as eagerly. “I mean, our Keith. After Keith leaves his body, Keith’ll be in there?”

Pidge rolled her eyes. “Have you been secretly worrying about this?” Lance refused to answer, which was answer enough. Keith immediately felt guilty. He hadn’t even spared a thought for the him of this time, shoved out of his own body to make way for his younger self. “He’ll be fine, Lance,” she said. “Hunk and I were up all night doing research. This actually isn’t the first time this has happened — the sand on that planet apparently has strange qualities when reacting with high levels of pressure — so Keith is still in there. He’s like, sleeping. Totally safe and totally unaware.”

“Oh, thank God,” Lance said, slumping into Keith, and Keith reached up and rubbed his back. Lance placed a hand on his knee.

“And this Keith will be okay, too?” Lance said, looking up at Pidge and then at Keith, who startled. “He’ll be able to go back and woo past me?”

“I’m not gonna _woo_  —”

“He’ll be fine,” Pidge interrupted. “Now c’mon. The sooner, the better.”

And so Keith and Lance were dragged out of bed, both of them shuffling into their clothes before following Pidge down the hall.

“It’s really interesting, really,” she was saying. “It has something to do with the placement of alternate realities and how they interact with time — and then there’s the quantum physics, of course — but what really makes this whole thing odd is —”

Keith zoned out, her technical jargon too difficult for his poor non-technical brain to understand, and Lance shared a similarly overwhelmed look with him. His arm was wrapped around Keith’s waist, which Keith couldn’t help but appreciate.

Pidge ended up leading them to the control room where the rest of the team was already gathered, looking exhausted. Lance glowered. “If we’d known you guys were going to stay up all night we would’ve joined you.”

“It’s okay, Lance,” Shiro said, sounding tired. “We don’t know what exactly Keith is going back into, so it’s best if he’s well-rested. And I doubt he would’ve slept well without you.”

Keith’s cheeks pinked, but he didn’t protest.

“Are you ready, Keith?” Allura asked, and Keith nodded, pulling away from Lance’s side and taking a step forward. Lance halted his progression, though, grabbing his wrist and pulling him back a step.

“Wha —”

Lance kissed him. Just for a second, but still. “Good luck,” he said seriously, his hand coming up so his thumb could brush against his cheek bone, just once. “Kick past me’s ass. If he insults you, imagine he means the exact opposite.”

Keith couldn’t bring himself to do anything other than nod, so that’s what he did. And then he stepped away, climbing the platform that Allura was standing on. There was a circle of crystals laid out on the floor, and Allura gestured towards them.

“Simply stand in the middle, and I’ll do the rest,” she said. Keith stepped into the circle.

“It’s not gonna hurt him, right?” Lance cut in, taking an anxious step forward.

“Our databases didn’t exactly tell us how it felt,” Pidge said dryly. “It was the researchers writing these findings, not the subjects.” Lance worried his lip.

“I’ll be fine,” Keith assured him.

“All right,” said Allura. “This should only take a few moments.”

She closed her eyes and breathed slowly, and suddenly, the marks on her cheeks started glowing, followed by the crystals surrounding Keith. The air before him seemed to shimmer, and his insides started to feel hot, like — really hot. Like, it was burning, and Keith opened his mouth to say something, to tell Allura to _stop_ , when everything went black.

 

 

His head was throbbing, which wasn’t helped by the sound of alarms all around him. Keith groaned, realizing Red’s head must’ve been pointing towards the ground, because he was hanging from the pilot’s chair, the seatbelt digging into his chest and waist. His fingers tingled, his arms dangling down in front of him.

And then Keith blinked, realizing he was _in his lion_. He was back! More importantly, he was in pain.

Groaning again, Keith unclasped his seatbelt, immediately regretting it when he flew towards the dashboard. He caught himself on the panels, struggling upward, and looked out Red’s eyes, which depicted clear surroundings. The dust was gone, settled.

Keith looked around then, realizing his helmet must’ve fallen off at some point as he was no longer wearing it. It was just under the dashboard, thankfully, and Keith scooped it up and put it on with a sigh of relief. Immediately, his comm connected, a low thrum humming through his ears.

“Guys?” he said, his voice coming out croakier than he expected.

“Keith!” Lance exclaimed, a split second before everyone else chorused the same thing.

“Keith, where are you?” Shiro demanded. “The dust just settled recently and we’ve been looking for you ever since. What happened?”

“I’m sorry for disobeying orders,” Keith said, instead of answering Shiro’s questions. “I should’ve seen that sandstorm coming…”

“It’s okay,” Shiro assured. “It’s in the past now. Where are you?”

“I think Red is operational,” Keith said, feeling Red’s familiar intense and curious presence waking up in his mind. “I still have the castle’s coordinates, I can just meet you there.”

And so he did. Red was careful to pick her head back up, letting Keith climb back into the pilot’s chair, and then they were off, racing towards a blip on their screens that represented the castle. Everyone else seemed to think Keith had only been missing for an hour or so, but the way Red was purring around him, seemingly wrapping around his mind, spoke of a longer absence. Keith sometimes thought the lions were omniscient.

“I missed you too, girl,” he said, patting her console before standing up, having arrived in the hangar.

When he exited his lion, the rest of the team was already waiting, and he smiled tightly at them. It was weird, seeing them all looking normal again. Younger.

“Keith!” Pidge said, the first one to break the silence, and she rushed forward. Keith laughed, surprised when she hugged him. Shiro stepped forward and clapped him on the arm, and Hunk was smiling one of his endlessly kind smiles at him. Lance was smiling too, although it changed into a smirk when he caught Keith watching.

“I thought Red was supposed to be the fastest lion,” he said, cocking his head to the side and waiting for Keith’s reaction.

“Sounds like you were worried about me,” Keith answered, which seemed to surprise Lance, who spluttered.

“He was,” Pidge laughed. “He was going on about sand monsters —”

_“There totally could be sand monsters!"_

“Yeah, alright,” Pidge snorted. Keith just smiled. He almost couldn’t believe he was really back.

—

Pidge was scary smart. Like, she was the kind of smart where she could connect dots so fast it was terrifying, where she could practically come up with a hypothesis and a conclusion in the same breath, so it was always best to treat her with a kind of caution. Keeping personal secrets from her was absolutely, definitely, of utmost importance.

And naturally, because Keith’s massive crush on Lance was a secret of utmost importance, Pidge found out about it.

Like, it was partially Keith’s fault, because he could hardly stop staring at Lance and bristled just a little bit more than usual whenever Lance said something biting, but still. Pidge could’ve at least had the decency to not pay so much attention to it.

She had cornered Keith one day, jabbed a finger into his chest, and said, “You love Lance.”

Keith had smacked a hand over her mouth. “ _Not so loud!_ ” he’d hissed.

Since then, Pidge had made it her life’s mission to simultaneously embarrass the shit out of Keith and be there for him. One moment she’d be snorting and kicking Keith under the table as he stared googley-eyed at Lance, and the next she’d be holed up with Keith in his room as he ranted about Lance and his stupid laugh and smirk and jokes and eyes.

It kind of became a routine. Pidge liked pestering Keith about it and Keith found that he liked actually being able to talk about his feelings for once. It was refreshing, and kind of a load off his shoulders. Of course, because Keith was Keith, this had consequences.

They were in their lions, yet to form Voltron because there really hadn’t been any time to, while Galra cruisers darted past them at all sides. There were so many of them that they couldn’t possibly block all the shots, which meant each of them were getting grouchier and grouchier as what felt like electricity was zapping through them every other minute. The lions could only do so much about the lasers that hit them, after all.

Keith had two different comm links open, the one with the whole team and the one just with Pidge. He’d opened it about a minute into the battle, when Lance had told him to, “Stop dancing around the Galra, Keith, damn!”

“He annoys the shit out of me!” Keith had growled into the private link, switching between them with a _click_  of the button on his armrest.

“But you _looove_  him,” Pidge had sang, and Keith had grumbled an annoyed response. _If he insults you, imagine he means the exact opposite._  That’s what future Lance had told him. Maybe what Lance had really meant was, “You almost got shot please stay safe and also I love you.”

Keith wished.

He was back on the group comms now, listening to the cacophony of voices as he hosed the Galra down with Red’s lasers. No matter what they did, it didn’t seem to be enough, the number of Galra so great they barely seemed to be decreasing.

This was familiar enough that their conversation flowed in a way that seemed natural to Keith. Some moments would pass in complete silence besides the sounds of their breaths, their concentration too great for conversation. But other moments it was constant chatter, “On your left!” and, “This bastard on my tail…” and, “God, how many are there?”

And then, of course, there was Lance. “Come on, Keith! I think I’ve destroyed twice as many as you!”

Keith hit the armrest, switching to the private link. _Click_.

“I want to punch him.”

“In the mouth,” Pidge said. “With your mouth. You want to kiss him.”

 _Click_.

“You wish.”

“Wish that you were half as good as me? Yeah, I do.”

 _Click_.

“It’s like he _lives_  to antagonize me.”

Pidge huffed. “I think he’s just got a backwards way of flirting.”

“Oh my God, he’s not flirting.”

 _Click_.

“Why don’t you stop arguing with me and just concentrate on the battle?” Keith snarled.

“I don’t need to concentrate, I’m doing great already.”

And on, and on, and _on_  like that.

 _Click_.

“I’m going insane.”

 _Click_.

“Can’t you just pay attention?”

 _Click_.

“He’s so infuriating.”

 _Click_.

“Look out!”

 _Click_.

“And he’s just so…”

 _Click_.

“It’s like, I just wonder when he’s gonna stop hating me? Because —”

“Keith.”

“He’s like, nice to me one moment and the next he acts like he hates my guts? And —”

“ _Keith_.”

“He’s just so _Lance_ , okay? I can’t, I just — I love him anyway, _ugh_.”

“KEITH.”

“ _What_ , Pidge?”

“…You’re on the public comms.”

Keith felt his stomach plummet out of his body. His throat went dry and his breath caught in his lungs and he could kind of hear everyone else’s stunned silence, only audible in their breathing.

Keith ripped his helmet off, disconnecting himself from the comms, and threw it towards his feet. “Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God,” he was saying, panic spiraling in his stomach. He vaguely felt Red trying to comfort him, but he was a little too far gone, imagining what everyone was thinking, what they were saying through the comms, _God_ , what _Lance_  was saying.

He couldn’t dwell, though, because there were Galra all around and they were shooting at him and his friends and he had to fight them. Plus, now he was at a disadvantage, not knowing when his friends were needing his help or warning him. He had to be extra alert.

His panic transformed into a kind of rampage after that, and he was taking out Galra by the dozens, definitely surpassing however many Lance had finished off by now. He kept chanting to himself not to think about it, to ignore how embarrassed he was, how much he wanted to fly Red off into the endless channels of space and avoid the rest of his team forever.

Somehow, surprisingly, the fight was winding down. When the last of the Galra were finished, he saw the other lions turning back towards the castle, a few of them looking back at him, making sure he was following. He wasn’t sure if Lance’s lion looked back; he was blocking everything Lance-related from his vision, from his memory.

Lance — future Lance, that is — had said he’d leave how they got together a surprise, but Keith doubted this was it. He’d embarrassed himself, alerted Lance to his feelings, and now Lance would dwell on that for who knew how long before eventually caving and kissing Keith in some way that Keith also didn’t know about. Definitely not in the hallway at night.

As Keith flew back to the castle, a little ways behind the other lions, he debated his course of action. Part of him wanted to sit inside Red for the rest of the night, to just hunker down and wait it out, to be sure that no one was around when he left. But he also knew how stubborn his team members could be, and he was afraid they’d wait him out, or worse — try to barge in.

That left running away. He could get to the hangars, land his lion, and run as fast and as far as he could. He’d discover one of the old recesses of the castle, hide somewhere where he’d never be found and could then die in peace.

It was with this plan in mind that he landed Red in the hangar, her mouth immediately dropping open for him. He had a clear shot from her ramp to the hallway on the opposite side of the room, and he took off like a shot, his legs a blur of motion beneath him and the exit his one goal in mind, his vision tunneled.

This tunnel vision had him neglecting to see Lance, however, who had emerged from Blue and was racing to intercept him — not too challenging of a task, with those long legs of his. It wasn’t until he was in front of Keith that he even saw him, and he let out a panicked sound and tried to dart to the left, but Lance flung out his arms and caught Keith around the middle, forcing the breath out of him and making him groan. He struggled against Lance’s arms, and Lance was saying, “Wait, Keith, stop!” but only somewhere in the back of Keith’s head did he hear this.

Finally Lance wrenched Keith upright, and he stilled because he realized how pathetic and downright stupid he looked, running for his life and struggling against Lance.

Keith waited for Lance to say something. For him to let him down or make fun of him or do something wildly inappropriate. Instead of doing any of those things, he leaned forward, almost too quickly, and pressed his lips against Keith’s.

Keith’s hands flew up, pausing somewhere in between his and Lance’s body, because all he could feel was shock. And Lance’s lips, pressed against his own. And then he was freaking out, his mind whirring at like a hundred miles an hour and he was finally reaching the rest of the way forward, his fingers splaying against the breastplate of Lance’s armor.

He melted against Lance, whose hand found its way into his hair, the other wrapping around Keith’s waist and pulling him in closer. When they finally parted, they were both panting, faces still so close, eyes wide as they stared at each other.

“Um,” Keith said intelligently. “Wow.”

Immediately, Lance smirked. Oh God, like he needed his ego stroked at all.

“That good, huh?” he said, and Keith rolled his eyes, shoving him away. Only then did he become aware of the rest of the team surrounding them, Shiro with his arms crossed and looking proud, Hunk with his hands clasped, and Pidge literally jumping in place. She pumped a fist into the air and whooped loudly.

But Keith felt just as excited as them, and if Lance’s grin was any consolation, so was he.

“So,” Lance said suddenly, stepping in closer and grinning at Keith. It was more of a _leer_ , really. He was downright terrifying. “How long have you loved me?”

Keith felt his entire face go red and he shoved Lance backward. “I am _never_  telling you that,” he huffed, marching past him and their gathered friends and out the hallway.

“Oh, come on!” Lance called after him, but Keith shook his head resolutely. No. No way in hell.

“Tell me!” Lance begged. “Cupcake? Sweetie-pie? Stud-muffin?”

Keith groaned, loud and long, and flipped Lance off over his shoulder. God, maybe his future self was right. Maybe pet-names _were_  horrible.

“Sweetheart?!”

(They weren’t.)


End file.
